New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1887-06-15
MARTIN, q E X S TNAN /.

MARTIN, TEL r SThAN.
a Brave Mans Terrible sacrifce.
The Thrilling Story Concerning a Stolen
Letter Mistaken for an Assassin, Martin
is Killed by the Man He Has Saved.
Translated for The Cincinnati Enquirer from the
French of Louis Collas, by E. c. Waggener.l
You have often seen him crossing the
fields with rapid stepts, RECOGNIZABLE not
only by his uniform cap and jacket but
still more by the sustained activity Of
his movements; for to him the mo-
ments are counted, and he has no
right to slacken his space. An indie
tatigable walker, he fulflls his duty
from the first day of the year to the
last without rest or ceasing. When a
tropical sun invites, all living creatures
to repose; when the weather is as cold
rs in the frozen wildes of Siberia; when
1t rains, or when it SHOWS until the
roads are buried and the paths obliter-
ated, he must still 60 across the
country, through the forests and the
treacherous marshes, seeking for the
houses lost in these solitudes and cut
off from all communication with the
towns save by the missives which it is
his place to bring them. He makes no
less than from ten to twelve leagues a
day, following the by-paths, leaping the
streams, scaling the cliffs, risking fall
into some deep ravine, and wounding
himself upon the thorns of the thickets.
TO LoITER EVEN IS FORBIDDEN HIM,
For the hour of return is fixed by law,
the letters which he brings back with
him must depart with the outgoing
mail, and the slightest infraction of
this programme would have the gravest
consequences.
Father Martin. as he was called
throughout the countryside, had fol-
lowed the business of postman for
twenty years. An ex-soldier, thanks
to the irreproachable conditions of the
service which grants it's patronage
as signal favor, he had obtained from
the postal bureau of the canton the
privilege of receiving fifty franks a
month as salary. Yet Martin was not
at all proud of his brilliant and exalted
position, though he perfectly under
stood it's responsibilities and its duties.
Every body knew and liked the little
grayhaired postman with the COM
plexion of brass, but whose limbs pos
ssessed the suppieness and strength of
steel; they knew him, as I say, and
what was better still, appreciated him
for his scrupulous observance of rules,
though he never refused to them favor
provided it conceded with his work.
There was not a corner of his circum-
spect!on that he had not travelled from
time to time with only the company of
the birds and his wolf-dog Keep, and
not hamlet or dwelling in the circuit
to reach which he could not tell YOU
the miles required, almost to the exac-
titude of a metre. Neither was he one
to spare himself, no matter what the
weather, a half hours seal CHI by throw
ing aside into ditch some worthless
circular or letter of doubtful address.
1t the destination could not3 be found
he returned with it at once to the bu.
reau of the canton.
A SLAVE TO ORDERS,
Punctual as clock, with a discre-
ton which discouraged all curiosity,
every where was his coming welcomed,
and when he was seen entering the
villages the children ran to meet him,
and the dogs received him with Joyous
barkings. But to the offer of a cup of
cider or a bit of bread the postman in
variably said "no'' time pressed, and
he disliked to contract social obliga-
lions.
His record at the office was equally
good and the Chief more than once re-
GREETED that the parsimony of the Gov
eminent did not permit him to ac-
knowledge such loyal services.
One morning about the middle of
October Father Martin departed on
his usual rounds. The weather was
4 frigtful, and as it had rained incessant-
I ly for more than a week, the roads
were quagmires, the brooks torrents
and what leaves remained upon the
trees were so rotten and sodden with
8sthe water that they afforded not the
slightest shelter from the storm. The
postman, however though drenched to
the skin, marched with the impassibili-
ty of the true soldier, who never dis
cusses nor dreams OF evading orders.
He had partially distributed his dis
patches, but his circuit was far from
ended, when he came to the Auberge
of Sebastian, an inn, or rather a mis-
cradle wine-shop at the entrance of the
forest, and which had for its clientage
the manufacturers of wooden shoes
who dwelt in the neighborhood and
came there for groceries and alcoholic
stimulants.
.'Hello! Mr.. Postman,' shouted a
voice as he passed the door; won t
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